


October is Coming

by sunshineflying



Series: A Song of Trash and Fire [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Armitage Hux Needs A Hug, Ben Solo is an awkward dork, Best Friends, Brendol Hux is the worst, Gen, Gratuitous Indiana Jones references, Hux and Phasma are best friends for life, Minor Character Death, Teen Angst, hux has a heart, teenage antics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-19
Updated: 2018-06-19
Packaged: 2019-05-25 11:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14976530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshineflying/pseuds/sunshineflying
Summary: Companion ficlet to A Song of Trash and Fire: Ben and Rey Make a Porno - consider this chapter 6.5.A flashback to sophomore year, when Hux's mother passed away. A look at how Hux reacted, how his father expected him to behave, and who was there for him when he needed comfort and companionship. Cue Phasma already knowing everything about everyone, and Ben Solo as the awkward new addition to their friend group.





	October is Coming

**Author's Note:**

> We hope you enjoy this sneak peek into the characters' lives before they embarked on this odd porno journey. There are more ficlets to come!

Hux had known it was coming. He’d known for months, years. His mother had been unwell for quite some time, but she’d always smiled at him through pale lips and insisted that she’d be alright. She wanted to see her boy—her only child—graduate, and she’d been confident that she would.

When Hux woke on that ordinary Thursday morning to the sound of voices downstairs, he was instantly alarmed. His mother always slept in—the more rest she got, he reasoned, the more likely she was to become well again—and his father left for work often before the sun rose. Hux recognized his father’s commanding voice, though, and instantly realized that something was wrong.

His red hair was a rumpled mess and he still had a crease on his cheek from his pillowcase as he reached the bottom landing of the stairs just in time to see his mother being carried out on a stretcher by paramedics. “Father?” he’d asked, turning to where the man stood, still in his pajamas in the foyer.

For once, Brendol Hux’s face held no anger. That in itself was enough to put Armitage on edge. When his father shook his head and cast his eyes downwards, that was all he needed to know.

“No.”

Hux rushed to the door to follow the medics to the ambulance, but his father caught him. “Son, let them go,” Brendol instructed. He wasn’t angry. He sounded . . . defeated. Hurt. _Human._

“But—”

“Go have a shower, get dressed. I’ll call the school,” Brendol said, guiding his son towards the stairs.

Hux’s father was never gentle, never understanding. When their eyes met, Hux found his own already blurred with tears. “Enough of that,” barked his father. “No crying. We saw this coming.” Brendol’s expression betrayed him, though. His eyes were already red-rimmed, but he held back. “Shower. Dress. Meet me back down here and we will go see her.”

“Is she—?”

Silence echoed in the now-empty kitchen. The medics tore out of the drive, but there were no sirens, just the sound of tires hauling her into the distance. No sirens could only mean . . .

“She passed away sometime in her sleep,” said his father. “They’re taking her to the morgue, and then she will be prepared for the wake.”  
An ugly sob escaped Hux’s mouth, and he feared his father would shout at him and scold him for such a blatant display of emotion. He was almost sixteen. He should be able to handle this. Instead of scolding him, his father just commanded, “Go get ready. The sooner you do, the sooner we can go.”

Hux felt rooted to the spot as his world crumbled around him. His mother understood him when his father didn’t. She’d been warm, kind. Understanding. They used to cook together when he was a child. When he was carefree and not afraid to smile or show emotion. Now that light was gone.

“Go!”

Hux stumbled over his lanky limbs as he ascended the stairs. He thanked the stars he had his own bathroom, his own suite on the opposite side of the floor from his father’s. It meant he could sob openly, without fear of harsh words from his father. 

She’d promised she’d make it to his graduation. She’d promised things were getting better and that she was going to be okay.

He wanted to be angry with her, for breaking those promises, but he couldn’t. She’d done all she could. She’d fought, but she’d lost.

Hux took his time, now dreading the trip to the hospital. He didn’t want to see his dead mother, to see the last bits of color drained from her skin. That wasn’t the sort of memory he wanted to keep around. No, he wanted to remember her as the vibrant woman in the kitchen who’d let him laugh, who’d let him lick the bowl after they made brownies together, who let him be a child.

He dressed in all black—melodramatic, but appropriate—and sat on the corner of his bed. He unplugged his Nokia and opened the messages. There was one waiting for him from Phasma.

**08:02 A.M.** where r u? mr. palpatine marked u absent

Hux willed his hands to stop trembling as he typed out a reply. He pressed each button repeatedly until he got the right letters, the arduous task of typing out a text message grating on his nerves. He wanted to send this message and be _done._

**08:56 A.M.** Mother died. Going to hospital.

Once that was finally finished, he pocketed his phone and took a deep breath. He glanced up at the mirror over his dresser and sighed at what he saw. He was a mess, and it was going to be clear as day to his father that he’d cried in the shower. Channelling the crumbled bits of strength that he had left in him, Hux stood and went downstairs. 

It was time to face the day.

  
\+ +

The brisk autumn wind forced its way through Hux’s bones as he stood in the cemetery. Dead leaves in hues of orange and red and yellow swirled around his ankles as he shivered even beneath the wool of his overcoat. He wore a black suit, at his father’s insistence, and he’d combed his hair perfectly to the side. The wind rustled it, blew the wiry strands in his face, but Hux ignored them. He kept his eyes focused forward, avoiding all the looks of pity he was currently receiving from the crowd surrounding him.

Phasma stood solidly at his side, her long blonde hair whipping in the cool breeze. She’d talked about chopping it off for weeks, but hadn’t yet followed through. Now, Hux was wishing she had. But he ignored her hair, too, even when it got too close to his face. Because his eyes were trained instead on the pallbearers walking the casket to the massive hole in the ground, just feet in front of Hux.

He squeezed his eyes closed for a minute, trying to regain his composure. His father told him not to cry. It was weak to cry. They needed to look strong so their friends wouldn’t pity them.  
But strength wasn’t something Hux had anymore.

As the casket was lowered to the ground, Hux felt cold fingers pressing against his palm. Phasma. He didn’t look over, but he did loosen his grip, allowing her to slide her hand into his. They were both shivering, hands frozen to the touch, but she squeezed comfortingly as their fingers threaded together and Hux gleaned a modicum of comfort from the gesture.

He knew he looked a sight, trembling and bleary-eyed, and that he was shit at covering up the fact that he felt about to burst into tears again. He was _fifteen_. He was too old to cry. But not only had he lost his mother, the gentlest person he’d ever known, but this meant he was alone in his house with his father—the brash, unforgiving Brendol Hux. He feared the life that would lead him towards. 

Phasma stood solidly at Hux’s side as his mother’s body was lowered into the ground. Hux watched a few leaves, carried on the waves of the wind, fall across her casket. Then, he and his father each stepped forward. Hux weakly gripped a handful of dirt and threw it down into the very place his mother had just been lowered. An unrelenting ache twisted in his chest and he heard the sob escape his lips. His father’s head snapped over to look at him, but Hux just looked down. He couldn’t face his father knowing he was likely very disappointed in him for being so emotional.

His mother had been his _life._

Hux returned to Phasma’s side, groping around desperately for her hand. They weren’t dating, regardless of what his father might have thought, but they _were_ friends. Hux wondered if Phasma was thinking about her own parents in this moment. He knew they were old—that it was a miracle she’d survived at all, given the age at which her parents chose to try to have a child—and that it was very likely she’d be putting her own parents in the ground soon. When it happened, Hux would be at her side, just as she was for him.

He wished it wouldn’t come to that. For as much as he may have loathed his father and felt genuinely resentful of those far happier than he, Hux wouldn’t wish this ache and sadness upon anyone. It was a feeling he’d never anticipated, a growing hole in his chest, an absence that could never be filled. Nobody would ever replace his mother, would ever provide him with the love and acceptance he felt when she was around. She was the beacon of light in a life where he had to live up to certain rules and expectations. She let him just _be._

That was all behind him, now. As each subsequent shovel of dirt landed atop her casket, Hux watched the last dregs of his childhood disappear with her. He raised his head high, sniffling, but blinking back tears before any more could fall. Jutting out his chin in what he hoped was a gesture of strength, Hux breathed deeply and willed himself to grow up. To be the man his father expected him to be.

Hux ignored the odd look from Phasma, but continued to clutch her hand in his own. He was going to make it through this. He _was._

  
\+ +

When Phasma invited Hux over after the funeral, he hadn’t hesitated at the invitation. He’d gone home with his father, kept his mouth shut as he was berated the whole time for showing too much emotion, for making them look _weak._ When the car was parked in the garage, Hux let his father go in and get settled before he followed.

It was easier for Hux after that. He changed out of his suit, into sweatpants and a hoodie—things he didn’t usually wear, but kept around for days when he sought comfort and relaxation, needed to escape the perfectly sculpted world of excess curated for him by his father. He then stuffed a change of clothes into an overnight bag, slung it over his shoulder, and left. 

There was no point in telling his father where he’d gone, because his father didn’t care.

As usual, when the taxi delivered Hux at Phasma’s house, she was the only person he encountered. He didn’t know what her parents did or how often they went out, aside from the fact that he’d only met them once. She had her hair up in a ponytail, out of her face, and Hux could see what she’d been getting at the week earlier, when she said she looked better with her hair out of her face so she ought to just chop it all off.

“You okay?” she asked as Hux walked in.

He didn’t bother lying. He shook his head because no, he really wasn’t okay.

Rather than speaking, Phasma led him to the kitchen and pulled out a mixing bowl. Then, she opened the door to the pantry and raised an eyebrow, knowing full well what he needed. Thankful for her understanding, he nodded. Hux’s practiced hands got to work immediately. 

The recipe was memorized long ago, and Hux felt a stillness within him whenever he got to work in a kitchen. He preheated the oven, mixed together the ingredients . . . it was old hat. He’d learned how to do this long before learning how to drive. And now he was determined to always remember this recipe, exactly as his mother made it. It was the last piece he had to connect him to her, always. 

Phasma gave him space as she drank her cup of tea while sitting at the kitchen counter. She didn’t ask questions, didn’t talk, just remained a comforting presence as Hux worked. Occasionally she’d look at her phone, but he didn’t know what she expected to see there.  
When the brownies were in the oven, Hux sat at the counter next to Phasma, and together they waited in silence. The past few days had been a whirlwind, but for the first time since it all went down, he felt . . . not okay, but like he would be, soon. 

Hux got lost in his memories of his mother then, as he wondered whether being okay meant forgetting her. Phasma didn’t press him to talk, even now that he’d finished baking.  
Until the doorbell rang.

Hux narrowed his eyes suspiciously; he couldn’t imagine who else might be showing up. There was a decided lack of surprise on Phasma’s face as she got up and walked to the front door. When she returned, she had Ben Solo in tow behind her. He looked awkward as hell with his big ears and short hair, a few spots of acne on his face. But they had some classes in common at school, not to mention they were both in Model U.N., so he supposed Ben Solo was at the very least his acquaintance, if only by association.

“Hux. Hi.”

“Solo.”

Ben visibly tried to tamp down his frustration at Hux’s curtness. “I was sorry to hear about your mom.”

So everyone knew, then. Hux grew exhausted all over again at the prospect of people he either didn’t know or didn’t like being aware of his private business. He sighed heavily and nodded.

“Ben needed to get out of his house today, and so did you, so I thought we could watch some movies in the basement.” The tone of Phasma’s voice suggested that nobody contest this idea, because she’d already made up her mind.

“When the brownies are done.”

Hux wasn’t in the mood to argue with Phasma or be hurt that she’d invited someone else to join them, too. Solo wasn’t the worst person she could have invited, after all. “You made brownies?” Ben asked curiously.

Hux nodded. “He’s very good at them,” Phasma said. Then, as a warning, she added, “His mother taught him.”

Ben knew then not to ask any more questions, and for that Hux was grateful. They sat awkwardly in the kitchen for the remaining four minutes on the timer, and when it buzzed, Phasma took the brownies out of the oven for them and brought them directly to the basement. 

Together, the three teens buried themselves under piles of blankets on the corner sectional sofa after Phasma put in a DVD. She’d set the pan of brownies up on the TV tray, a hot pad keeping them warm and a pile of three forks beside it. As _Indiana Jones_ lit up the TV screen, they dug into the brownies, gooey and fresh from the oven. Ben glanced to Hux, considering whether to tell him that it was a really good recipe, but decided against it. The two weren’t friends, but Phasma had warned Ben before he came over that talk about Hux’s mother was forbidden unless Hux himself brought it up, because Hux and his mother had been very close.

Yet once the movie began rolling, a friendly sort of truce formed between the three of them. As the first movie continued on, Phasma tilted her head to the side. “He sort of reminds me of your dad, Solo,” she said. “But . . . not old.”

Hux snorted as Ben’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water; he didn’t know what to say to that, nor how he felt about the fact that they were kind of right.

Hux and Phasma’s eyes focused on Ben and his reaction must have been enough to lighten the mood, because in seconds, they were _laughing._ Even _Hux._

“Hmm, but Indiana Jones is hotter, though,” Hux confessed. It was the first time he’d indicated any sort of preference for men, but nobody made a big deal out of it.

Phasma nodded, considering Hux’s statement. “Very true. Solo’s mom, on the other hand . . .”

“Please stop,” Ben pleaded weakly.

Hux and Phasma just laughed some more. “Oh, don’t you worry, Ben,” Phasma reassured him, bemused. “One day you’ll find the perfect girl for you. A mix of your mom and dad, but you won’t realize it until it’s too late.”

“I don’t date,” Ben said flatly.

“We all will, eventually,” Phasma reminded him.

Ben tugged the blanket further over his lap and stuffed a piece of brownie in his mouth. “It’s easier not to. Less people who can leave you,” he countered.

To that, Hux had no argument. Solo made a very good point. Phasma sighed and rolled her eyes. “The trick is to make them want you more than you want them.”

“You read that in your fancy girly magazines?” Hux teased. “ _Teen Beat_ , or whatever?”

Phasma threw a pillow directly in his face.

The _Indiana Jones_ marathon continued long after they’d consumed the full pan of brownies between them. They’d begun to slump across the massive sofa sometime during the second film, and by the time they came to the halfway point of the third, they were all fighting off the urge to fall asleep.

All the lights in the basement were switched off, and sleep had quickly become an inevitability. After a rather large yawn, Hux muttered two words against his better judgment.

“Thank you.”

Blankets ruffled and then Phasma spoke up. “Don’t be silly, we’re your friends.”

“I’m really just—” 

“Shut up, Solo. We’re _all_ friends.”

And that was the end of that.

**Author's Note:**

> Short playlist for this chapter is as follows:
> 
>  
> 
> 6.5 // October is Coming  
>  Wake Me Up When September Ends - Green Day  
>  Only A Human - George Ezra  
>  Where Do We Go From Here? - Matt and Kim


End file.
